


I'll Toughen My Skin and Get Under Yours

by sweeterthankarma



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Demon Musings, F/F, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 08:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16678468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Vicky doesn’t have a heart, a soul, or even a good conscious, but every time Eleanor says the same string of statements, the ever-repeated admission of availability and interest, were Vicky ever insinuating a hookup, she fights back a smirk.





	I'll Toughen My Skin and Get Under Yours

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine that in one of the reboots, Vicky decided to run with Eleanor's proposition to a hookup and see where things went from there. It's only likely, especially considering how much stays the same in every reboot, that Eleanor would flirt with her again, and Vicky would think to do something with that.  
> This was so much fun to write, Vicky's head is a twisted, fascinating place to hang out in for awhile.

_     “Are you making a move on me? It’s fine, I just didn’t see it coming. Well, hooking up with someone with the same exact name is kind of a fun, narcissistic fantasy. I could be into it.” _

 

Eleanor has said these exact words every time they’re in this situation— every time the cards play out effectively enough for Vicky and Michael to be able to make it this far into the current charade, at least— and word for word, like a broken record, Eleanor flirts.

She’s fortunate, in moments like these, that Michael decided to create his image of The Bad Place surrounding these select people; despite how complicated and cunning and absolute buffoonish they are, Vicky has her fun with it. It’s impossible not to.

She also thinks she may be learning from them, too.

It’s usually in ways she doesn’t expect— Jason has infiltrated her thoughts with meal suggestions, combinations of foods that she thought no one would ever desire to put together, and she’s starting to doubt her qualifications as a demon because of it. If he wholeheartedly liked mixing Oreos, mayonnaise, and chicken fried steak on Earth in a blender and then competing in a contest with Pillboi to see who could chug it fastest, there goes about fifty of her top torture ideas.

The humans are fascinating, and if she needed sleep, she’d stay awake in bed pondering instead of dreaming. The four of them make the same choices over and over; the amount of times Eleanor has stolen shrimp only to hide it in her bra, dip it in champagne, scarf it down her throat when Chidi notices, only to puke it up again on Tahani’s shoes ten minutes later makes Vicky wonder whether her attempts to become a better person later on in the game are anything but futile. Eleanor changes every time, usually with Chidi’s help, but it’s never her first course of action to be good, so maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.

_ Ugh,  _ she thinks whenever she catches herself rambling. Listening to Chidi ramble about morality and utilitarianism and whatever the fork else for hours on end is making her think far more than she wants to. It’s like her own personal form of torture, and she doesn’t need any more of that. She was in The Bad Place long enough before she got promoted to assistant torturer.

It doesn’t matter whether Eleanor is good or bad because she’s already in hell. Vicky couldn’t care less about the ways she tries to improve herself, not really. She is amused though, every time Eleanor opens her mouth and comes up with some new pet name because she’s heard the same ones over and over, in some shape or form. 

She’s flattered in a way, because she knows Eleanor’s ramblings are authentic. While she doesn’t feel attraction herself, at least not in the same way as the humans do, she has eyes and knows Eleanor is pretty. She sees the way Chidi and Tahani look at her, and sometimes even Jason too. She can’t blame them, not when Eleanor is a ruthless flirt and actions like hers seems to be a thing that affects humans. Unafraid and prepared to laugh off any rejection (as she always does), Eleanor’s eyes stay on Vicky often, firm and gazing so confident and unafraid that it’s almost laughable because  _ oh,  _ she should be so afraid. She has no idea who she’s looking at or what she’s capable of.

But Vicky stares back, eyebrows raised, curious as she keeps her innocent face on, and smiles just a little.

Vicky is entertained with her job, for better or for worse, and in hell, this gig is far better than anything the other neighbourhoods offer. She brushes off her appreciation as boredom, as necessity and interest and familiarity because Michael has been keeping her around for the past two hundred reboots or so. She’s getting tired of starting over, too, but there’s something that she likes about it all the same. She doesn’t have a heart, a soul, or even a good conscious, but every time Eleanor says the same string of statements, the ever-repeated admission of availability and interest, were Vicky ever insinuating a hookup, she fights back a smirk.

She knows Eleanor is restless.  _ Horny,  _ as the humans say— and she’s a demon, so she doesn’t really have a physical body, at least not one like Eleanor does, filled with nerve endings that react to touch and desire it, but she’s starting to understand how that kind of feeling might exist. If she needs to, she can ask Janet to switch things around, to give her lace and human skin underneath her sweater rather than fire and metal and smoke, and maybe even some more specific bodily changes to give Eleanor the impression she wants. Vicky could tell on the first attempt alone that Eleanor was a butt girl, and she thinks she can work with that.

Next time, she may take Eleanor up on her offer. She knows there will be a next time anyways— they’re already on reboot #212, and there’s no way this one is going to work out; Jason blew his cover of being a Taiwanese monk in forty seconds, breaking his own personal record of forty one, and Michael is itching to snap his fingers again. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr @sweeterthankarma.


End file.
